Chasing Rabbits
by Newromantic
Summary: Sara decides to chase two rabbits at once. This is a WIP and it's GS. chapter 5 up
1. Chapter One

A.N: This title has undoubtedly been used on numerous occasions, but 'Too Tough To Die' has to be one of my favourite Sara episodes and I wanted to start my fist CSI fic with something I really enjoyed.  
  
This is a WIP and will probably be a few chapters, but as a warning I feel obligated to tell you that it will be a Grissom/Sara story. *sticks tongue out at Clara*  
  
Obviously, I adhere to the usual disclaimers and I hope you all enjoy.  
  
Chasing Rabbits  
  
Chapter one  
  
Four...three...two...Sara Sidle counted down the last remaining seconds, watching the digits on the clock morph from one number to another until the power cut out with a satisfactory ping. Stretching her long sleeve over her right hand in a makeshift oven glove, she pulled open the door and made a grab for the contents, hissing between clenched teeth as the heat emanated through her cotton top and steam burned her fingers.  
  
Moving quickly, Sara hurried over to the table and dumped the offending object before her, scowling at it's audacity to burn her before propping her bare feet on the chair opposite and picking up her coffee cup. Just as she went to take a sip, the disembodied voice behind her caused her to jump slightly and slop the contents of her mug over the side and onto her jeans.  
  
"Damn!" Sara was on her feet in a second flat, futilely wiping at her pants with bare hands whilst staring accusingly at her supervisor, Gil Grissom, who was looking sheepish in the doorway. "I swear there's a conspiracy to scald me today," she muttered as she gracelessly accepted the proffered hand towel and scrubbed furiously at her clothing.  
  
Grissom just smiled slightly and moved towards the table. "I only asked how you were getting on at the Grand," he said as he sat down and picked up the newspaper.  
  
Sara glanced over at her supervisor, immediately forgetting the setting coffee stains on her jeans, and instead eager to share her initial findings. Catherine, Warrick and Nick were working on a DB found hanging by the feet in a disused warehouse off the strip, leaving Sara with an elderly lady found dead on the floor by a sun lounger in one of Las Vegas' most prestigious hotels. Grissom had a meeting with the mayor to contend with but had promised to join Sara as soon as he was done.  
  
Her interest in the conversation suddenly piqued, she sat down opposite Gil and began to relay the situation to him, describing the layout of the pool-area and the position of the body, along with it's proximity to the water. "Her name's Annie Winchester, sixty-nine years old. Prelim shows she didn't drown and Doc Robbins estimates time of death to be around four this morning," Sara said without needing to glance at her notes. "Manager says she booked into the penthouse yesterday at three with a guy half her age that goes by the name Jerome Cardinal. He seems to have disappeared into thin air but AFIS are running a search from the fingerprints I found in the room. No immediate signs of external wounding or blunt force trauma." She took a breath and continued. "Initially looked like a suspect DFO, but I found yellow fibers on her body, and she was naked when the pool man discovered her. Greg has them now, along with the champagne glass I found on the ground next to her, but he's a little backlogged so it may be a few hours until we get the results."  
  
Grissom nodded absently, as if he hadn't really heard a word she had said. Instead he was staring intently at the object Sara had retrieved from the microwave a few moments earlier.  
  
"Socks?" Gil asked, mildly surprised.  
  
Sara's cheeks flamed and she glanced at her bare feet. "I fell in the pool," she murmured quietly. "It was dark and the ground was wet. I lost my footing..."  
  
Gil nodded understandingly, but Sara could plainly see he was trying hard not to laugh. She decided to make it easy on him. "You're lucky you came in when you did," she continued with a slight grin. "Five minutes earlier and you would have caught me nuking my pants..." Sara immediately wished she had just kept her mouth shut. Still, the fact was out there now and unbidden fantasies of Grissom catching her in her underwear flashed through her mind like photographs, causing her breath to catch in her throat and her pulse to flutter a little wildly.  
  
Grissom seemed to be having problems forming coherent sentences and instead he glanced at the door, then at Sara's pants, then back to the door. "So...you...I mean, you...in the..." flustered and for the once utterly speechless, Gil pointed frantically at the microwave and blinked rapidly. Sara just nodded. "I have a spare pair of boots in my locker, but I had to change into my spare clothes last night after that drunk driver vomited beer on me at the scene. I wore them home and forgot to bring in another set of clothes."  
  
Gil nodded, glad for the distraction, but more glad that he had regained his equilibrium. But your socks? He'd have had to have been one hell of a shot to have vomited on your socks too."  
  
Sara shook her head. "I lent them to Catherine. She said she wanted to conduct an experiment and needed purple cotton." She grinned good-naturedly. "I don't expect to see them again."  
  
"Sensible woman," Gil smiled and stood up. "So where are we at now?"  
  
Sara blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"The case?" Grissom reminded her patiently. "What's next?"  
  
"Oh." Giving herself a mental kick up the backside, Sara grabbed her socks and pulled them on, wincing as she realized they were still slightly damp. "Next we go back to the scene," she grunted as she yanked on her dry boots and zipped them up. "I want to check out the suite again. This case seems a little too...funky to be as cut-and-dried as we're supposed to think."  
  
Grissom nodded as she downed the rest of her now cold coffee. "Funky?" he asked as she placed the cup in the sink.  
  
"Yeah, funky." Sara grabbed the car keys from her pocket and waved them in her supervisors face. "It's a word. I'll drive while you look it up."  
  
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Chapter two to follow soon. Feedback is appreciated. 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: The characters in CSI belong to.someone rich. Not me. Also, I have no idea if there is an hotel called The Grand in Las Vegas, but the one in this story is fictional, along with it's manager and staff.  
  
A/N: Sorry for the delay. The research is taking longer than I thought it would. Still, better late than never I guess.  
  
Chasing Rabbits  
  
Chapter Two  
  
The Grand Hotel, despite its name, was very much like every other hotel along the Las Vegas strip. Although fairly high class, the rooms weren't overly expensive as, like most of the tourist areas in Vegas, it was heavily subsidized by the Casino situated on the ground floor. The whole point of a town like Vegas was that people didn't usually come here to take in the views of the mountains or soak up the local history. The one thing that kept this town on its feet was the gamblers. From High Rollers to one- off Roulette players, from the guy who finds a quarter on the floor and bets it on a whim to the hard-core addicts who sit at their machines from dawn 'till dusk and through the night, betting their life savings and their souls on the next dime and the next and the next. Las Vegas; the ultimate in decadence and despair.  
  
Hardened and immune to the shouts of joy and the cries of frustration, Gil and Sara made their way through the thick fog of cigarette smoke and the stench of stale alcohol, finally spotting Detective Jim Brass leaning against a closed Black Jack table, apparently in deep conversation with the hotel manager. Instinct and years of working with Gil Grissom caused Brass to look up from the notes on his pad and glance over to where the two CSI's were rapidly approaching.  
  
Waving them over, he said something Gil couldn't make out to the manager and nodded his goodbye as the suited-and-booted man turned on his heel and stormed away. "Apparently our Mister Patterson isn't too happy that one of his more expensive suites is out of commission," Brass said with a wry smile as Sara and Gil stopped before him. "Can you believe the guy actually asked if we wouldn't mind moving 'our operation' to one of the less- expensive rooms on the second floor?"  
  
Gil grinned at that request. "What did you say?" he asked, already knowing that whatever Brass' reply would have been would have entirely ignored the departments recent memo on public relations.  
  
"Nothing I care to repeat in front of a lady," Brass replied, honoring Sara with one of his more mischievous grins.  
  
Sara smiled in response. "I don't even want to know what he said about us taping off the pool."  
  
"Any news on the vics companion?" Gil asked as they made their way out of the casino and towards the elevator.  
  
"Not yet," Jim replied. "I've got one of my boys running the name, but no hits so far. The room was paid for on Ms Winchester's credit card, but he did leave behind a few things in their room; a shirt and a pair of pants. Maybe you guys could work your magic on them."  
  
Gil nodded as they stepped inside the elevator. "Well, lets go see."  
  
~*~  
  
The man's throat tightened automatically against the pressure on his windpipe. He thrust his hips forward slightly; wrists pulling and chafing against the ropes that bound him. He strained his eyes, trying to look down at the woman on her knees before him, her lips wrapped around him, sucking in time to the automatic rocking of his hips. He could barely see any more, his oxygen restricted to a minimal and his heart pumping wildly in his chest.  
  
"Harder," he managed to croak out and both the woman on her knees and the other standing before him attended to their tasks with a little more effort, neither knowing to whom he was speaking. He was pressed fully against the wall now, the pressure of the woman's thumbs against his throat forcing him to stand a little straighter. The blonde on her feet watched with detached curiosity as her client's cheeks reddened with effort and his eyes began to bulge. Why would anyone in their right mind actually enjoy this? She wondered absently. Grimacing she tried to ease the pressure of her thumbs, her fingers still splayed against the wall behind him. The muscles in her hands were aching now, but, as with all of her customers, she continued to do what he asked.  
  
As long as she got paid.  
  
The brunette on her knees was also beginning to feel the familiar ache of repetitive strain in her jaw. Thank God she'd remembered to buy more lip balm, this guy had been at it for almost thirty minutes and still she was no closer to collecting her cash and getting the hell outta there.  
  
Not wanting to know what the other girl was doing above her, she made a few obligatory appreciative noises and concentrated once again on the task at hand. In a last ditch effort she grabbed the guy by his hips and manually thrust him inside her mouth as deeply as she could take without gagging. Finally she could taste the salty indication that the job was almost over and closed her eyes in welcome relief.  
  
Soon she could go home. Soon she could go home.  
  
~*~  
  
Brass nodded to the officer stationed outside Ms Winchester's hotel suite and swiped the key card through the slot, allowing entrance to himself and his companions.  
  
The room was well furnished with expensive, if somewhat tacky furniture. There were two rooms leading off from the main living room, one being the bedroom and the other being the bathroom. Grissom walked straight through into the bedroom and found another adjoining door. Opening it, he discovered it was a second entrance to the bathroom, making the bedroom itself an en suite. The room was a rather off-putting mixture of pinks and purples, with floor-to-ceiling widows and mirrors strategically placed for optimum viewing. The bed was circular and unnecessarily large, with rumpled sheets and as yet unidentified stains on the covers. To the left was a walk- in closet and a dresser with a few of the victims personal belongings laid carefully alongside the complimentary sample perfumes and body creams provided by the hotel.  
  
"Looks like a bordello," Sara remarked casually as she placed her case carefully on the carpeted floor.  
  
Grissom nodded in response and walked over to the dresser. Using only his gloved fingertips, he began inspecting the items the victim had left behind. "Hand cream, hairspray, pile cream?" Gil glanced at Sara. "Why would she keep this in the bedroom and not the bathroom?"  
  
Sara smiled knowingly. "She probably used it under her eyes," she replied mysteriously. Gil just blinked and awaited further elaboration. "It's supposed to help get rid of ageing lines," she finished, eager to see her superiors response. The female of the species had always eluded Grissom who, as a scientist and an old fashioned guy, could never get to grips with a lot of what women considered perfectly acceptable  
  
"Oh," he replied eventually and, with one last exasperated glance, placed the offending ointment back on the table. "How do you know stuff like this?"  
  
Sara feigned offence. "In case you hadn't noticed, I *am* female."  
  
Gil glanced at her quickly. "I'd noticed," he said quietly before turning away and heading towards the head of the bed.  
  
Sara looked intently down at her case, absently touching a few of the chemicals and objects contained within. What the hell did he mean by that? she wondered. Was she meant to take that as a compliment?  
  
Sighing she stood and made her way over to the window. This whole skirting around each other was really starting to grate. She looked over at Grissom who was holding up a suspender belt and staring at it in horror. Sometimes he really could be adorable.  
  
"I'll tell you what," Sara said, taking pity on him, "I'll work the bedroom and you do the living room." Grissom threw down the belt, grateful to be leaving such an area of mystery and walked back into the other room where Brass was busy going through the old Oak desk.  
  
Suddenly the detective stopped rummaging and looked over at Gil in surprise before picking up something shiny with his gloved hands.  
  
"Sara found an empty Champagne glass, right?" he asked as he looked closer at what turned out to be a letter opener.  
  
"Right," Gil replied, walking over to the desk. "Greg's testing it now. Why? What have you found?"  
  
"Well if she was poisoned," Brass murmured, holding up the opener, which Gil could see was covered in a white chalky substance "Then I think maybe I just found the murder weapon."  
  
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Hopefully it shouldn't take so long to get chapter three finished. I'd love to know whether or not you all like it , so please give feedback. 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: The characters in CSI belong to.someone rich. Not me.  
  
Warning: I'm not going to rate this an R because I don't think it deserves that high a rating, but I will warn you that there is a little of what could be considered adult content in here so I'd appreciate it if you guys use your discretion and don't go reading this to your Grandparents.  
  
Especially if they're like mine.  
  
For Wendy and her obsession with Luminol.  
  
Chasing Rabbits  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The letter opener was shaped like a small dagger, but with blunted edges and an attractive Chinese pattern ingrained into its surface. Brass was holding the opener up to eye level, giving Gil the opportunity to study the item further without having to touch it. The decoration on the shiny metal was going to turn out to be a big help when it came to testing the powder, Gil mused to himself as he looked closer at the tip of the blade. Thanks to the deep carvings, some of the powder would have embedded itself nicely in the opener and that definitely meant Greg would be able to use it for analysis.  
  
"I got some definite sexual activity in here," Sara called from the bedroom and Gil turned to look at the empty doorway. "Well it looks like Brass may have hit the jackpot," he replied and smiled at the detective.  
  
"Above and beyond, Gil," Brass replied simply, "above and beyond."  
  
Sara emerged from the bedroom, removing her latex gloves. "What'd you get?" she asked as Brass grinned self-indulgently at the two CSI's. "Just the murder weapon," he replied with a shrug. "And they say you guys have the difficult job."  
  
Sara smirked at the joke and turned to Gil. "When I said sexual activity I think I may have been understating slightly," she said, indicating towards the bedroom. "More like sexual aerobics. I found semen on the bed, under the bed, on the walls and get this," she moved back into the bedroom waiting for Grissom and Brass to follow, and then shone the ultra violet light on the ceiling. The fluids lit up like stars.  
  
"God damn," Brass muttered to himself, and then turned to look at Sara. "That ceiling must be nearly twenty feet high. How the hell did he manage that?"  
  
Sara shrugged. "I have no idea, but it's definitely recent. It's still relatively fresh."  
  
"Can you get a sample?" Grissom asked, still staring in wonder at the white ceiling. "If I can get a ladder from maintenance," she replied. "I also found some on the curtains and it still looks fairly damp." Sara wandered over to the large windows and pointed at a dark stain on the drapes. "You want a sample of that too?"  
  
"Yeah," Gil nodded. "Did the cleaners come in here today?" he asked Brass, who was still looking at the ceiling. "No. They hadn't got to this floor before we cordoned the room off. Why?"  
  
"I thought I smelled cleaning products when we came in. I want to Luminol the bathroom and the living room."  
  
"There was no blood found on the vic," Sara replied. "What are you thinking?"  
  
Gil shook his head. "I don't know yet," he murmured thoughtfully, "but I'm not taking any chances."  
  
With that, he walked back into the living room, leaving Sara to collect her samples and Brass to continue staring in awe at the stained ceiling.  
  
~*~  
  
He was so close, so close. He could feel the blood pumping furiously through his erect penis and his head was swimming from lack of oxygen. His heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest and somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind it randomly occurred to him that he was going to have to think of a good explanation about the bruises he was sure to have over his larynx when he got to the film set tomorrow.  
  
Determined, he pushed all thoughts out of his mind and concentrated on the wonderful feel of the wet pulling sensation. He opened his eyes for a moment and glanced dizzily at the woman lying prone on the bed, watching the proceedings with detached wonder, as if she were watching a movie or the news.  
  
Slowly she rose from her position on the bed and moved over to where he was pressed up against the wall. "Is it good?" she whispered in his ear and he groaned appreciatively in response. With a sly smile she ran her fingers up the man's exposed chest before dragging her nails down over his sensitized nipples, and down towards his navel. White lines appeared on his reddened skin where she had left her mark and he groaned again, the line between pleasure and pain becoming more and more blurred with each passing moment.  
  
The woman smiled again and absently stroked the brunette's hair as she tended to her chore. "You want it harder?" she purred and the man made an attempt at nodding. Suddenly she grabbed a fistful of the girl's hair and shoved her face painfully into his crotch, making the prostitute gag and bite down a little.  
  
He cried out, his hands pulling against the restraints once more and the blonde pushed even harder against his larynx, trying to keep him still. Never in her life had she been so confused and concerned by a punters request. Still, as much as her thumbs were killing her, she was incredibly grateful to be the one on her feet and not the one on her knees.  
  
The girl on the floor felt like she was the one being asphyxiated. The pressure from the woman's hand had surprised her so much at first that she thought she was going to choke. Still the hand was there but the pressure had lessened to an insistent reminder that she was to be as rough as she could be.  
  
When she had gotten the call from Lizzie at the agency, she had been so grateful for the work that she had agreed to the job immediately. Even now she could picture the pile of bills stacking up on her kitchen counter, mostly red and demanding. Working for a company like Vegas Escort Agency was much safer than walking the streets at night, but recently the demand for her services had been lessened due to a combination of a slow winter for the tourist trade and the facial bruising she had received from her last client only a week earlier. No one wanted an ugly date and unfortunately having a job like this was always going to be commission based.  
  
The continuous rocking movement of her entire body was making her back ache terribly and the thin carpet on the motel room floor was slowly tearing up her stockings and giving her knees serious friction burn. Her jaw muscles ached like crazy and just as she was wondering how much longer until she could leave, the man's body began to jerk violently and the brunette braced herself for the familiarly unpleasant taste of semen mixed with various types of alcohol.  
  
But it never came. Opening her eyes and risking a look upwards, she realized that the client's knees were no longer stiff, but bent and weak, as if the only thing keeping him upright were his manacled wrists. His head was also flopped forward, eyes open but glazed. The other girl had removed her hands from around his neck and was staring in horror at the sight before her.  
  
It took at least another minute for the girl on her knees to register that the man was dead, and another thirty seconds for her to remove her mouth from his penis, the movement making a quiet popping noise as her jaw remained sagged open in shock.  
  
The next five minutes were a blur and she remembered nothing between that moment and a few minutes later when she found herself being violently sick in the toilet bowl.  
  
Of course, the events that took place after emptying her stomach neither girl would forget for as long as either of them lived.  
  
~*~  
  
"I've finished in the bedroom," Sara informed Gil as she walked into the living. "You find anything in yet?"  
  
"I've just finished spraying." Grissom straightened up and placed a hand on the small of his back, rubbing it as he stretched his spine. "You wanna hit the lights?"  
  
Sara nodded and grabbed her torch from her jacket as she flicked the switch. Brass turned on his own torch as he entered the room, ready to help search alongside them.  
  
The three stood and stared around the darkened suite, seeing nothing. Grissom was the first to move, walking over to the desk and checking underneath for the familiar glow of cleaned blood. Sara and Brass followed suite, each walking over to various pieces of furniture and checking under them for any indication of foul play. Still they found nothing.  
  
It was Sara's muttered curse that had Gil turning on his heel and rushing over to help her move an old Oak couch. "You alright?" he asked as she rubbed her arm gingerly. "Yeah," she replied with a grimace. "I just wrenched my shoulder. That sofa's a lot heavier than it looks."  
  
Gil turned to Brass. "Could you go get some ice from reception?" Brass nodded and there was a brief flash of light as he left the room before they were once again plunged into relative darkness.  
  
"Let me see." Gil insisted and shone his torch in the general direction of her torso. Sara shook her head vehemently. "It's fine, really." Despite her protestations, it was Grissom's glare that had her sighing impatiently and removing her sweater with a wince.  
  
Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all, Gil thought dubiously as her top layer came off. Underneath her blue sweater Sara still wore a bra and a tank top, but seeing so much flesh on display had caused his pulse to quicken and his hands to shake.  
  
Berating himself for his lack of professionalism and swallowing hard, Grissom slowly lifted his hands and placed them on her naked shoulder.  
  
"Hey!" She cried out as his hands made contact. Immediately he withdrew and looked at her in surprise. "What?" Sara smiled. "Cold hands," she replied and Gil grinned guiltily before blowing on his hands and trying once again.  
  
There was what could only be described as an electrical currant passing between them at first contact, and they both held their breath for a moment. Slowly they relaxed into the task at hand and soon enough Sara was wincing as his fingers gently needed her arm. A few moments later and the pain was gone, but Sara was loathed for the moment to pass. Somewhere in such a short space of time Gil's ministrations had gone from professional concern to a very sensual massage.  
  
The air in the room was thick with tension and Sara's breathing became shallow. Gil was so close to her right now that she could reach out her hand just a little and touch his chest. He shifted a little until he was facing her directly and continued to feel her arm for damaged muscles and ligaments.  
  
You seem fine," he whispered to the silent room. "Did you hurt anything else?" Sara looked up at him and for the first time since Brass had left they made eye contact. Not such a good plan, Sara mused absently as her breath caught in her throat. It seemed that at that moment the power of speech had eluded her and all she could manage was a strangled "No" before Gil's head came down with a helpless groan and his lips claimed hers.  
  
The kiss lasted less than a second and Sara barely had time to register the moment before Brass came barging in the room, causing the two to spring apart guiltily, each wondering how much he had seen.  
  
Apparently he had seen very little as his attention had been drawn elsewhere. "Holy crap," Brass said eloquently as he stared down at the space where the sofa had once been. "What the hell happened in here?"  
  
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***So what do you think so far of my first attempt at CSI?  
  
There're a few chapters still to come and some lovely twists in the story that hopefully none of you will see coming. Oh, and of course there'll be lots more G/S because I'm a sucker for romance.  
  
*sigh.* 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: The characters in CSI belong to.someone rich. Not me.  
  
Chasing Rabbits  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Aside from the obvious carpet dents one would expect to find when a piece of furniture has remained in the same position for any length of time, Brass had immediately spotted an oversized set of body restraints lying in the space where the sofa had once been.  
  
Switching on the light to get a better look, Sara, Gil and Brass crowded around the torture instruments and stared at them blankly. "What do you think," Jim asked eventually, "his or hers?"  
  
"I guess there's only one way to find out," Gil replied, reaching for his cell. Hitting the speed dial button he held the phone to his ear for a few seconds, waiting for an answer. "Greg?" he said suddenly, "Can you get over to the Grand and bring a couple of guys to help you?" There was a pause, then, "That's fine. Go to the desk and get the keys to a Tahoe. Make sure you've got enough space in the back for some large evidence we need transported." There was another, shorter pause, and then Gil rung off.  
  
Turning to his two colleagues, Gil glanced at their new find once again before giving out the new orders. "Sara can you finish off processing here?" he asked and was rewarded with a slight nod. "Brass, let's go see the manager again. No way they could get something this size past the front desk without someone noticing."  
  
"My thoughts exactly," Brass replied. "I'll go ask reception to beep him." Jim left the room once more and Gil began to meticulously collect the contents of his kit together and place them carefully back in their allotted places. Sara watched him for a moment, remaining silent and thoughtful right up until the moment she realized he was going to leave without saying a word about what had happened.  
  
"Griss..." Sara murmured, and Gil stopped, his hand tightening reflexively on the door handle. Turning to look at her, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying desperately to gather his thoughts.  
  
"Sara, I..." he began, then sighed impatiently at his lack of articulation. "I don't think, I mean, it's not...my timing..." Sara smiled sympathetically. He really was trying and it was obviously painful for him to express himself like this.  
  
"How about we talk later?" she asked and Gil nodded both in agreement and gratitude. But Sara wasn't done. She knew this man of old and she knew how good he was at avoidance. "Promise?" she said gravely and once again he nodded in response. Only this time, it was entirely serious. "I promise," he replied, rewarding her with one of his rare smiles, then he left to find Brass, leaving Sara to stare questioningly at a closed door.  
  
~*~ The sudden sting of the older woman's palm making contact with her cheek had the blonde ceasing her hysterical screams and instead standing frozen in front of the dead man like a mannequin in a shop window.  
  
Wordlessly, the older woman walked into the bathroom and grabbed the brunette by the shoulders, hauling her to her feet and marching her back into the motel bedroom to stand limply beside her colleague. Quickly and efficiently she dragged a black backpack out from under the bed and began to fill it with the dead mans sadomasochistic paraphernalia. Finally, she bent down and unlocked the manacles around the man's wrists, allowing his naked, lifeless body to fall to the ground with a dull thud. She then placed the manacles and keys in the bag.  
  
"Help me dress him," she ordered the two girls and began to gather his strewn clothing together. Still in shock, and not entirely sure of their own actions, the prostitutes began the robotic process of redressing the dead man, working quickly and silently until their arduous task was done.  
  
Placing the man gently, almost reverently back on the floor the older woman regarded the two girls coldly for a moment. "You killed him," she said simply and the girls stared at each other in absolute horror. Still the woman continued. "You were the one with your hands around his throat," she pointed at the blonde. "It may have been what he wanted, but nevertheless, you killed him."  
  
Panic overwhelmed the young woman and she stared at the other girl, her eyes burning with fear. "If they find out I'll tell them you were there too!" she blurted out, causing the petite brunette to blanche. "That's what I figured," the third woman stated. "But I'm going to help you."  
  
Both girls turned to the older woman and nodded to her gratefully. "What should we do?" the brunette asked quietly.  
  
~*~  
  
"So what you're saying is that some old lady managed to carry a five foot Iron Maiden straight through reception and up in the lift to the Penthouse suite with help only from one person, and no one noticed anything slightly odd?" Brass sat forward slightly in his chair and leaned his elbows on the table. "I'm thinking we may need to see your surveillance cameras."  
  
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Mr. Patterson replied stoically as he smoothed the sleeve of his business suite. "And from what you've said, I hardly think it would be an Iron Maiden."  
  
"We could get a warrant," Gil warned, ignoring the manager's obvious facetiousness. But Mr. Patterson just shook his head. "It won't do you any good. One of my security staff accidentally recorded over the day of Ms Winchester's arrival."  
  
Jim glared at the Manager. "Well now, isn't that unfortunate."  
  
"Most," agreed Mr. Patterson amiably. "Now unless there is anything else I can do for you, I have a hotel to run. Good day gentlemen." Without waiting for a response, the Manager rose from his seat and left the room.  
  
Gil glanced around the hotel lobby where the unofficial interview had taken place. "You know," he said quietly so only Brass could hear, "I'm starting to think there's something a little kooky going on here."  
  
"You mean aside from the dead body, the missing person and the torture chamber?" Brass replied humorlessly.  
  
Gil stood up slowly. "I'm going to find out if Greg's arrived," he said and picked up his case.  
  
"I'll see if there's any news on our Mister Cardinal," Brass replied with a nod. "Oh, and by the way," Gil turned to face his friend questioningly. "Did you really just say 'kooky'?"  
  
Grissom smiled. "Blame Sara." He replied and walked towards the elevator. "Oh I do," Jim murmured as he watched his friend step gracelessly into the lift car, "Remind me to thank her some day."  
  
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Thank you all so much for the feedback! I've already written the next chapter, but I like to keep you waiting. 


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: The characters in CSI belong to.someone rich. Not me.  
  
Chasing Rabbits  
  
Chapter Five  
  
The whole of the Las Vegas strip must have heard Greg Sanders arrive, Sara thought as the man in question bounced enthusiastically into the room, followed closely by two other, much less excitable, Lab Technicians.  
  
"Hey guys," she smiled and was rewarded with murmured responses from the two spectacled men at the rear who began placing various bags and boxes just inside the door. Greg on the other hand walked straight over to the CSI and placed a brazen arm around her shoulders. "Hey Sara," he replied with a slight squeeze of her arm, "And just what can I do for you on such a fine day?"  
  
"You could stop pawing my CSI for a start," Gil replied from the doorway and Sara couldn't help but grin at his barely concealed jealousy. Immediately Greg removed his arm from Sara's shoulders. "Grissom," he nodded respectfully, "What do you need?"  
  
Gil pointed over to where the couch had once been and felt some sense of vague satisfaction as Greg's eyes widened in surprise. Unfortunately for one so young, Greg had chosen a profession in which little shocked him any more, so it was nice once in a while to see the child-like expression of wonder in the young man's eyes - even if it was over sadomasochistic torture instruments.  
  
Of course, the minute Greg opened his mouth all illusions of parental pride disappeared in a cloud of smoke. "These are like the ones at your old girlfriend's place, huh Griss?" he said as he crouched down to get a closer look at the black leather Cat O' Nine Tails.  
  
Gil scowled at this remark and stepped forwards to loom threateningly over the scientist. "You want to make CSI," he said as stared down at the now visibly unnerved Greg, "you're going to have to learn to keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. Until you do, you're going to have to stay behind."  
  
Nodding, Greg rose to his feet, all humor in his tone now a distant memory. "What do you need us to do?" he asked quietly. Gil stared down at the evidence, refusing to give in to the feelings of guilt at being so harsh with Greg. "I want all this," he said indicating to the restraints "packed up and taken back to CSI. I want fingerprinting, DNA and check it for fibers. Also Sara has some samples that need analyzing."  
  
"Yes sir," Greg nodded and turned to his colleagues. "Alright boys, always use protection," he said with a grin and reached in his pocket for a set of latex gloves.  
  
~*~ She knew what was going to happen, hell they'd planned it right from the start. That's why she'd suggested this special Birthday treat for the dead man on the floor. The only thing she hadn't planned on was the need for two girls instead of one. Still, it was her fault, when all was said and done. She'd been stupid enough to leave the neck harness behind and there was no way in hell she was going to be the one to do the job. As far as she was concerned, as long as she never actually touched his throat, she had nothing to worry about.  
  
When she hired them from the agency the girl behind the desk had been a little surprised, to say the least. After all, a woman walking in to a massage parlor and demanding two specific types of girls with the exact height and weight measurements he had described in his fantasy couldn't have been an every day occurrence in her line of work. She'd paid cash, of course and had worn leather gloves the whole time. No way in hell they were getting her fingerprints. No siree. She was too clever for that; too well planned.  
  
Of course, in the end having two girls around turned out to be a much better plan anyway. Hell, the Gods really were on her side tonight. She'd kept her elbow-length leather gloves on throughout the little performance earlier, and she was still wearing them now. This had been one of the most important parts of her master plan; to make the hookers do all the dirty work. Her gloves were a deterrent to the police, as was the expensive blonde wig sat atop her own graying hair and the large amounts of makeup caking her face, almost becoming a mask to hide her true identity. No, if they found any evidence at all it would be theirs.  
  
And that wouldn't matter either.  
  
She watched with carefully concealed exuberance as the two girls grabbed the dead man by his wrists and dragged him into the bathroom. Body lifting him into the tub, they each turned to look at her, wordlessly questioning their next move. Again, she had come prepared.  
  
"There's Acid under the sink," she said quietly, pointing to the off-white cupboard. "I saw it earlier. Plug the bath up and pour it on him."  
  
Both girls paled considerably and she became frustrated with their stalling. "Do you want to go to prison?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch. "Or maybe even get the death penalty? You murdered this man!"  
  
"I want to call Lizzie," the brunette said shakily and the woman stepped towards her. "And have her do what? Call the cops?" Taking a deep breath, she consciously slowed her breathing and calmed herself down. She had to stay in control. "I'm the only one you can trust now," she murmured as she stroked the girls cheek, trying to make her tone as soothing as possible. "I promise you I won't tell a soul." The girls glanced at each other and nodded slowly. Then one reached for the plug whilst the other reached for the Acid.  
  
It took both of them to pour the chemical over the body. Immediately it began to eat away both at the enamel on the tub and the man himself. All three watched with morbid fascination as the droplets burned their way through his clothes and eventually through his skin, then onto his rapidly apparent bones and tissue.  
  
The smell of burning flesh hit their nostrils with such assault that even the older woman had to physically stop herself from gagging. "Get out," she hissed at the girls and immediately they filed out of the bathroom, grateful to be away from that nauseating smell and horrific sight. The older woman shut the bathroom door behind her and used the heel of her stiletto to break the lock from the outside. Eventually the smell would bring the manager to the room, but with the door closed and the lock broken, she figured it would give her plenty of time to disappear.  
  
She smiled to herself as she and the girls gathered up all evidence of their having been there and left the keys to the room in the lock as they loaded her car and climbed in. Everything was going to plan. At three in the morning it was still dark outside and she could tell just by glancing at the road that traffic was at a minimum. This was going to be easy.  
  
"Where are we going?" one of girls asked as she pulled out of the motel parking lot and onto the road.  
  
"I'll drop you back at the agency," the woman replied as she indicated into the fast lane. "From there you go straight home." Glancing in the rear view mirror she noticed with a slight frown that one of the girls, the blonde, was silently crying. Never mind sweetie, she thought as she turned her focus back onto the road, it'll be over soon. Pulling over into the rest stop she unclipped her seatbelt and turned to face them. I need to change my shoes," she explained as she opened the car door. "I can't drive in these heels. I have pumps in the trunk, I won't be a minute."  
  
Both girls made some vague gesture of acquiescence and stayed where they were. Neither paid any attention to the unremarkable car pulling up behind them, and it was only when the glass shattered and the Blonde's head exploded all over her lap that the Brunette started to scream.  
  
Of course, that didn't last too long either.  
  
~*~  
  
Greg's exit from the hotel was, by all accounts, much quieter than his entrance. After he and his colleagues had left the crime scene Sara turned to Grissom. "Do you ever think you're maybe a little hard on him?" she asked carefully, mindful that no matter what had transpired between them only hours earlier, he was still her boss.  
  
"Sometimes I think I am," Gil replied truthfully. "But he frustrates me. One day he's going to make a really great CSI, but he's got a lot of growing up to do before I could trust him out in the field." Grissom sighed and leaned heavily against the wall. "That kid is so incredibly intelligent, but he expends way too much of his energy on fooling around in the lab, I worry that if I did let him loose, he'd be too busy messing around and miss something important."  
  
Sara nodded. She understood where he was coming from, but still... "Has he ever let you down so far?"  
  
Gil thought for a moment then shook his head. "No, his work is impeccable, but I have a feeling that one day he's gonna screw up and when he does, it'll be bad."  
  
With a mirthless smile, Sara turned and began collecting together her kit. "You know you've got to learn to have a little more faith in us Griss," she said as she snapped her case closed. "I think if you give him enough leeway, he may just surprise you."  
  
"And if I give him enough rope, will he hang himself?"  
  
Sara groaned. "You won't win this with cliches," She paused to look around the room for a minute. "Are we done here?" Grissom nodded and together they moved towards the door. Sara locked the door behind them and replaced the Crime Scene tape across the frames with loving care, taking great pleasure in envisioning Mr. Patterson's face when he saw the luminous yellow tape in all it's glory outside his most expensive room.  
  
Together they walked to the elevator and Sara pressed the button. The car arrived with a subtle ping and they stepped inside. "I thought hotels this pricey would have lift operators," she mused as the leaned against opposite sides of the car. Gil shrugged absently.  
  
Sara frowned. "Griss?"  
  
Gil looked up. "I've always had faith in you," he said, suddenly concerned that they would have a repeat of Sara threatening to leave. Sara smiled and nodded briefly. "I know." Turning her attention to the lift car, she looked up at the ceiling. "No camera."  
  
Gil's attention was drawn in the same direction as Sara's. "There were cameras in the lobby and on every floor, right?" Sara nodded. "Yeah. The tapes are at CSI. I was going to check in when I got back."  
  
Frowning, Gil looked at Sara. "We've been in almost every hotel on the strip, right?" Sara nodded her agreement and he continued. "So how many of those don't have cameras in their elevators?"  
  
Sara thought for a moment. "None, as far as I remember."  
  
Gil pointed to a loose cable hanging from the corner of the ceiling. "Well there definitely was a camera in here at some point," he said, walking over to examine the cable closer. "Let's find out why it's missing."  
  
Sara nodded and pressed the button for the lobby. The elevator shuddered slightly and began moving downwards. Both CSI's watched the illuminated numbers slowly decrease exponentially until they reached the seventh floor where the elevator ground to a halt.  
  
Both stepped back a little as they waited for the doors to open and someone to enter the car, but it never happened. The elevator shuddered again and began to move downwards. Suddenly there was a muted bang and the elevator stopped once more - this time between floors - and the lights went out.  
  
"What the...?" Grissom muttered as the emergency lights blinked on and the pair were illuminated in a sickly green glow. He stalked over to the emergency telephone and put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" There was no reply and he pressed the bar down a few times to try and get a line, but there was nothing.  
  
"Griss?" Sara came to stand beside him. Gil glanced absently at his colleague. "No answer," he murmured by way of explanation before turning his attention back to the phone and pressing buttons randomly.  
  
"I know," Sara replied confidently and Gil looked over at her again. "How?"  
  
She held up the cable. "It's been cut."  
  
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End file.
